


The Crow At the End of the World

by Thatlassiegotglassed



Category: Pacific Rim (2013), Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Gen, Sons of Anarchy AU, The one where Tig and Chibs are Jaeger pilots because YES WE NEEDED THAT
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-01-26 19:54:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1700555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatlassiegotglassed/pseuds/Thatlassiegotglassed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tig Trager was once the head of the outlaw Jaeger division. Made of war veterans and criminals that the world didn't want, he built a criminal enterprise with an interest of saving the world. Until it all went horribly wrong and he traded the California sun for life behind bars. Still one of the best pilots out there, they may have found him a new partner--a rational Scot that may balance his bullets before brains nature just in time to stop the apocalypse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> THERE THAT WAS WAY MORE DRAMATIC THAN I HAD PLANED BUT BUM BUM BUM. Happy late birthday Haytchee! Have some Tig!!

The rubber ball bounced against the concrete wall and landed back in his hand with a satisfying _thump_. He watched as it hit the wall, over and over, each time returning to him like a faithful dog. He had traded four smokes for it, the cigarettes had tasted like shit and he needed anything to take his mind off the boredom that was eating him alive.

The Maximum State Penitentiary was run down, poorly lit and smelled like burnt rubber. With no visitors, no yard time, and only one meal a day, he had lost track of how long he had been behind those white-washed bars. Too fucking long, that was for sure.

“Tig,” a voice hissed from the cell next to him. He caught the ball and turned his head. From his spot on his cot, he couldn't see who was talking to him. Maybe he was hearing things? Fuck, he couldn't go crazy yet—well, crazier. “Tig!” the voice came again and he turned on his side.

“What?” he said, annoyed.

“You got any smokes?” the man said. His voice was wavering, unsure, meek. Tig shook his head, even though the other inmate couldn't see him. Chucky was a poor excuse for a criminal, and a waste of taxpayer dollars by being in such a high security place. Someone must have hated the man's guts for him to end up here.

“Nah, Chuck,” he resumed tossing the ball. “Fresh out.”

“Liar,” came the small voice.

“Pretty tough when there's a foot of stone between you an' the next guy, aren't ya?” Tig said. “I heard what Cho did to your hands. Tha's fucked up man.”

There was silence for a minute and he heard the springs of the cheaply made bed frame groaning as Chucky moved to his own bars. “You got a smoke?” he repeated. “Please?”

“Tell ya what,” Tig said, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “How about you suck my dick and I'll give ya one? I don't do charity, man. Everybody's gotta earn.”

He was joking, of course, didn't want that little creep anywhere near his jewels, but the other man thought for a moment then said with a nod, “I accept that.”

Tig's face twisted up in disgust, and he shook his head. “Jesus Christ, man. I was kidding.” The smaller man would never last in a place like this. He'd be someone's bitch before the year was up, giving head for much less than a pack of Lucky Strikes, or dead, if he was lucky.

With slow movements he stretched his back and moved to the far wall. Good thing about prison was, the bedroom and the bathroom were in the same place. There was no mirror, for the same reason there were no bed sheets—safety precautions. Oh well, no mirror meant he could ignore the graying of his wild, black mane, that had started before he went inside. Fuck, this was not how he thought it all would end.

His large hands rested on the porcelain sink, the only piece of furniture apart from the bed. He remembered asking the guard what he should do if he had to piss? The rent-a-cop had nodded at the sink. Well, then.

He would have gladly pissed in the floor if it meant they'd give him a window, though. He missed sunlight, missed the California heat, and the way the light warmed the leather on his motorcycle. He missed home. Never one to settle down, anywhere on his Dyna had been home. It had been perfect, now, it was gone.

He laid a hand on the cold wall. It was slightly damp and it made him want to crawl under his scratchy, cotton blanket and stow away from this hell hole. The thought made him straighten his shoulders, stand tall—Tig Trager didn't hide.

A loud buzzing sounded from down the hall. It announced someone was entering the cell block. Whistles and the sound of hands slapping against the bars could be heard as the distinct clicking of high heels moved up the catwalk.

“Hey, princess, you wanna spice up my cell?”

“Walk slower, baby, let me finish jerkin' it!”

“I gotta better way t' use those cuffs.”

A woman was on the cell block? Tig moved from the sink and to the bars. If there was one way for him to know how long he had been behind bars, it was how long since he had had pussy. He missed it more than home cooked food.

He slid his arms around the bars and watched as a tall broad in a tan blazer and slacks moved passed the rows of inmates. She looked around like she smelled something disgusting. She had thin lips and tight lines around the edges of her eyes from spending her entire career glaring—this was one he had a feeling he wouldn't be able to charm into getting on her knees. Damn.

When she stopped at his cell and turned those hawk-like eyes on him, he moved back a little.

“Alexander Trager?”

He raised an eyebrow, “Who wants to know?”

“I'm Agent Stahl,” she flipped a small leather booklet and flashed her badge. “This is Agent Hale.” She jerked her head over her shoulder and indicated the man behind her. In his cheap suit, the other agent looked very uncomfortable.

“What do ya want?” he asked, pulling his hands back through the bars and flopping back onto the cot.

“You're in a lot of trouble, Mr. Trager,” she continued, putting her hands on her hips, under the jacket. The motion revealed an empty gun holster on her belt, no doubt they took it when she entered the cell block.

“Oh yeah?” he cocked an eyebrow and grinned at her before looking back up at the molding ceiling.

“Fifty years old, GED, US Marine,” she rattled off his biography as he heard the sound of a file being opened and papers being flipped. “Divorced twice, two daughters--”

“Well, look at you,” he cut her off. “You know everything about me. How about tellin' me a little about you?” He turned and looked at her from under his arm that was resting on his head. “What color panties you got on, doll?”

Her lips tightened and she snapped the file shut. “I'm here to help you, Mr. Trager.”

“Sure, ya are,” he said.

“How many years you got left?” she cocked her head, straightened, sandy hair, falling to the side. She knew damn well the answer to her question. He stayed quiet. “Twenty-two hundred counts of second degree murder. Even at the minimum sentence for each, that will put you in here passed the second coming of Christ. But, something tells me you're not a believer.”

“Nope,” he glared at the ceiling and adjusted his hands behind his head. “If he is real, god doesn't give a shit about me.”

“Any remorse for all those people you killed?”

“Those charges were bullshit. I was a scape goat,” he snarled. “Take that file and shove it up your ass, sweetheart.”

“You want to tell me about Lt. Herman Kozik?” she switched gears and Tig felt his fists clench.”Where is he now?”

Tig stayed still, refusing to give her his gaze. This bitch had the files, did her homework, she knew where he was, knew the answers to her little games. He wasn't playing.

“He's dead, isn't he, Trager? And that's your fault, too,” she pressed him. “Ah, not so talkative anymore?”

Tig bit along the inside of his cheek, keeping his face as stoic as possible. Who did this gash think she was? Maybe if he ignored her, she'd go away, but that was wishful thinking. He knew her type. Desperate to prove herself, wanting so much to run with the big boys and soothe unresolved daddy-issues, that every morning she buckled on her metaphorical strap-on and devoured anything with testosterone.

“You want out, Mr. Trager?” she continued. “I can make that happen. Freedom sound good? Something tells me you're not the type to last long inside a box.”

He gave a short bark of laughter. “I didn't bite at your sentimental bullshit, so, now you're offering the outside?” he shook his head. “Tha's desperate, doll. Desperate move--”

“We can help you,” her partner spoke up. He had a softer demeanor, but hard eyes that had seen some serious shit. Tig knew cop eyes when he saw them. Agent Hale moved closer to the bars and rested his forearm against them, leaning in to get a better look at Tig.

“Yeah?” Tig said, snarkiness returning once he had a minute to compose his thoughts. “Unless you can get me a curvy brunette and a bottle of Wild Turkey--”

“They're revamping the Jaeger program,” he said and the woman glared daggers at him.

“Hale!” she exclaimed as her jaw tightened.

Now, that was interesting. Tig sat up and looked at the Agent. “No shit?” Hale nodded. “Damn,” Tig said as he ran a hand through his hair. “Things that bad out there?”

“You have no idea,” the other man said, feeling like he was gaining some ground with the convict.

Tig stood and sauntered back over to the bars. He put a hand to his chest and grinned. “So, what you're saying is, _you_  need _me_?”

Hale's face fell slightly, he wasn't expecting that. Agent Stahl hit him with the file in her hand before shoving it against his chest. “Idiot,” she sneered. “Go stand over there.” She waited for him to leave before turning back to Tig.

“I don't pilot anymore, doll,” he lowered his voice as he leaned against the bars and looked at her. “You should know that.”

“You think if we had adequate pilots, I would be here talking to you?” she crossed her arms under her breasts. “Most of them are dead. Against mine, and most of the world's, better judgment, we've integrated the outlaw division to fill the gap.”

“You what?” he whispered. Out of all the things that could have spilled from her mouth, that was the last thing he had expected and by the way her eyes tightened around the edges in anger, he knew she wasn't lying. “Who's alive? What have they been doin'? H--”

“You want answers?” she said, stone cold cop face returning once she realized she had him on the ropes. “Come with us.”

He looked at her, resented the sly smile that covered her face as she watched him like he was a tiger behind the glass of an exhibit. Dammit, she had him, she really had him. A decade on the inside and she wasn't just offering him freedom, she was offering him answers.

He looked around the room before giving her a grin of his own. “Alright, doll, you win. Let me just pack my things.” He stayed still and paused for a moment before holding out his hands. “Oh, look at that, I'm done.”

She looked at the guard, not impressed by his jokes. “Bring me Alexander Trager's personal items and street clothes.” The guard nodded and pulled out his cuffs to take Tig to be processed for release, but she stopped him. “I don't think those are necessary, are they, Mr. Trager?”

“Nah,” he shook his head. “I'll behave.” He held up two fingers and winked at her. “Scout's honor.”

“I wonder why I don't believe that,” she said and he chuckled. As the guard put the large keys into the cell door, he watched, partly mesmerized. And to think, he thought it was going to be another boring day.  


	2. Your Place in the Chaos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters, an exact number I haven't figured out, are going to be flashback. You're going to get the story of Tig and Kozik and their days as renegade pilots. I couldn't cheat you guys out of that, now could I?

_Ten years earlier._

He felt the blonde wrap her arms around his mid section as he stirred awake for the first time. From the soft skin and warmth against his cheek he could tell he was face down in a pair of perfect breasts—his favorite way to sleep. He cocked one eye open and saw the brunette sleeping peacefully, her hand resting in his hair. What could he say? He liked to have options.

“'Morning,” the blonde cooed and nuzzled his back.

He couldn't remember her name, but he did know she had talked way too much the night before. Keeping his body pressed to the brunette, he turned around. She kept speaking and he thought he was going to hurl as the headache and her voice hit him all at once.

“I was thinking about showering. I didn't know when you'd be up. I—ohh,” she squeaked as he pressed his lips to hers and shut her up. She smiled against his lips, thinking his affections were for her. Let her think that, right now, her silence was more golden than her bottle-dyed hair.

“Tig!” a knock came in the form of a fist pounding against his bedroom door.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbled against the woman's mouth and leaned back, yelling at the door. “What?”

“It's like 2 o'clock,” the voice said and the door opened without an invitation to come inside. “And, why am I not surprised?” The kid in front of him was in his late 20's, lean and very muscular, with tan skin and a fohawk that belonged in some cheap, Mexican, gang movie. “Morning, ladies,” he nodded to the naked women curled around Tig.

They each gave him a nod as the brunette woke up and stroked Tig's curls, still not saying much. He liked her best.

“Whattya want, Juice?” Tig asked as he sat up and let the sheet pool in his lap. He scratched his chest and glanced at the clock.

“We're at the table,” he said.

“Why?” Tig leaned up off the headboard.

“Got some info, last night. 'Couple signatures off the coast. Could be nothin',” he shrugged but Tig could tell he was choosing his words carefully while they were in the presence of mixed company. He looked down at the blonde still practically wrapped around his waist and stroking his thigh.

“Get outta here,” he snapped his fingers and nodded towards the door. Like puppies, the only way he'd get them to leave was to be brash. “Go on, beat it,” he nodded.

The blonde looked hurt but the brunette had seen it coming. She kissed his cheek and whispered a sultry goodbye before grabbing her clothes and doing as he asked. He watched the way the she walked passed Juice—he wouldn't mind giving that one a call back.

“You're an ass,” the blonde complained as she pulled on her t-shirt and got out of bed.

“Yeah, I know,” Tig said, unimpressed and tossed her the skirt that was hanging off the lamp shade. She shoved passed the man in the doorway and Juice chuckled.

“Good to know you still got it—okay, I didn't need to see that,” the kid averted his eyes as Tig stood up, bare-assed and looking for his pants.

“Talk to me, Juice,” he said as he pulled on his jeans and kinda hopped in place to get everything adjusted properly. He reached in and cupped his balls before zipping up and stringing his belt through the loops.

“The information came off the scanner,” he said, still looking at the ceiling as Tig found a shirt. “They haven't spotted anything, but apparently, there are some pretty high energy readings happening in the rift again.”

He could tell the kid was trying to dumb it down for him. Juice was their techie, sharp as a tack and good with computers, he could hack anything and get them any information they needed in the time it took the coffee pot to finish brewing. He was tough, too. Although, he'd never be a pilot, he could hold his own in a fight.

“What do you think we do?” Tig asked as he took his wrist cuffs off the dresser and snapped them on.

“That's why we're at the table. The guys need to know,” he said. “Maybe it's time we get Missy up and running faster than planned.”

Tig nodded. He figured that might be the plan, but that raised a whole shit storm of other problems. “I'll be right there.”

Juice nodded and turned, leaving the door cracked slightly behind him. Tig opened up his cell phone, an outdated burner that was untraceable and more importantly, disposable, and checked the date. With a sigh he placed his hands on the dresser and looked at his reflection. Today was his 41st birthday.

 

* * *

 

Tig stuck two fingers in his mouth and gave and short, hard whistle. After a moment's pause, a brown and tan bundle of energy came weaving in and out of the mechanics and skidded to a stop as his feet, large paws having trouble finding purchase on the sawdust-covered floor.

“Hey, baby,” he praised as he rubbed her pointed ears and the scruff of her neck. The German Shepard licked his face and wagged her tail hard enough to thump against her own haunches as she told him good morning.

“'Bout time you joined us, sleeping beauty,” a tall, blonde man said as he chucked a wrench on the nearby work bench and walked over to Tig.

“Bite me, Koz,” Tig joked, still focused on the dog.

“There's coffee over there,” Kozik nodded. “You smell like booze and pussy.”

“Is there a better smell?” Tig asked as he walked over to the work table and grabbed a styrofoam cup, Missy practically attached to his hip.

Kozik wiped his hands on his jeans and grabbed his own mug off the table, putting it to his lips as he spoke. “Juice come talk to you?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. He stuck his finger in the creamer and licked it. It was cheap and he decided he'd rather drink the coffee black than ruin it with that shit. “We ready for another Kaiju?”

“You want honesty or good-morning-bullshit?” Kozik raised an eyebrow, lowering his mug.

“Give it to me straight, man,” Tig said.

“We'd be annihilated. Missy's not ready. The last attack nearly made her into scrap metal and we haven't got our hands on another nuclear reactor to get our back up Jaeger to even come online. And if we did, who'd pilot the damn thing?”

Tig held up a hand. It was too early for this shit, he knew their situation was dire. He looked around and knew they were running out of options.

The Stronghold was an abandoned aircraft carrier that they had claimed for themselves. It was big, run down and basically a piss-poor replica of it's sister building, the Shatterdome. They had tried to mimic what the Jaeger program had built in Hong Kong, only with about a fourth of the funding. So far, it wasn't working out.

He watched as the men moved about the many levels of the bunker. The sound of buzz saws, drills and the sparks off welders filled the air as about a hundred of his guys set about the daily tasks of building Jaegers from the ground up. The “mechanics” were really a ragtag group of ex-cons, war vets, and urchins that the world didn't want, and after the attacks started, didn't have a lot of options as far as work went. The government had turned their backs, so they had no choice but to seek out people like Tig and his crew.

Just thinking about it made him angry. He looked away from the grease-covered men to the giant, lifeless robot hanging in the back of the carrier.

“What do we need t' get her runnin' again, Koz?” Tig said quietly.

“Maybe a gyro stabilizer, but we can skip it if we have to. We need a fresh cooling vent,” he rubbed the back of his neck and looked at his friend. “She heats up too quickly, Tig. Even if we got her running, she'd crash just from over heating before we even made it to the water.”

“Happy's got a guy up north, arms dealer, maybe he can get his hands on some heavy machinery, too?”

“Yeah, and how much's that gonna cost us?” Kozik was quick to point out and Tig rubbed his eyes.

“I never thought it'd get this big,” he confessed and the blonde nodded.

“I know,” he leaned his butt back against the table and crossed his arms over his broad chest. They had both been hardworking, ex-marines that couldn't seem to fit in anywhere after the war. Then the Kaiju attacked, and the leaders needed their neglected middle class to fight monsters no one had ever dreamed of. They refused to bend and take it up the ass from a table a bureaucrats, but they also didn't want to die either. “Anarchy is the only hope, brother.”

“Don't get all poetic on me, ya pussy,” Tig shoved him. “Go find Happy. Meet at the table in twenty.”

Kozik put down his coffee and nodded. “You got it.” He grabbed his kutte, a well-worn leather vest with a large reaper on the back, off the work bench and slipped it over his shoulders. He started to walk away but came up short. “Hey,” he said and Tig looked up. “Happy birthday, man.”

Tig faltered but kept his body rigid. With no family contact and an air tight personal life, it was pretty much a given that Tig had woke up expecting no one to remember. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

“Did Dawn call?” Kozik asked.

Tig felt like someone had dropped a brick on his chest as he looked down at the foam cup in his ring-covered hands. “Nah,” he shook his head, trying to sound indifferent to the idea of his daughter calling her old man.

“She will, man, she will,” Kozik said. Every year he said the same thing, and even though it was a lie, it was comforting all the same.

“Maybe,” Tig continued to nod and bit his lip as he pushed the image of his girl to the back of his mind. He threw the cup into the trash can a little harder than was probably necessary. “Get outta my head, asshole,” he said quietly to Kozik.

“We don't gotta be in the drift for me to know what's goin' on in your head,” the younger man said honestly, as he adjusted the kutte and walked away.

 

* * *

 

Happy, who Tig was pretty certain didn't have a last name, was probably terrifying to anyone who didn't know him. He was tall, lean muscle with a bald head, dark eyes, and more tattoos than you could count. He also didn't speak much, but when he did, it came out in a deep voice that sounded like he had eaten a bowl of rocks for breakfast.

“My guy can get us the parts, normally ain't cheap,” he gruffed as Tig sat down at the head of the oak table.

“Normally? What's that mean?” Kozik sat on Tig's right and leaned forward on the reaper that was carved into the table.

“We don't have a lot of cash,” Tig said. “Will he take--”

“He'll do it for free,” Happy announced with a smile. The other men looked at him like he had just announced Santa was actually real.

“Why?” Tig said, suspicious of anything that sounded too good to be true.

“He realizes how important the cause is,” Happy continued. “Knows we took a beating in Alaska. We're the only protection this side of the world has since they placed the last Shatterdome in China. You'll have the parts by next week.”

“Well, shit,” Kozik said and sat back in the chair. “That takes care of that.”

“I still don't like it,” Tig said.

“Of course you don't,” Juice added. “But what else 'we gonna do? I wasn't lying about those readings. Got more while you were elbows deep in cheap pussy.” Happy laughed and Juice slid him a small stack of papers.

Tig looked the top one over and saw nothing that made any sense to him, just a bunch of squiggles and graphs that he hadn't seen since he took his GED exam. “What am I lookin' at, Juice?”

“Think of it as the shit they use to read earthquakes, except instead of plate movement, those numbers are radioactivity. Energy that's coming out of the rift. It gets high enough, that shit's gonna bust wide open,” he hit his hand lightly on the table. “Bam, we'll have another giant lizard knockin' on our door.”

“Fuck,” Kozik looked at Tig, who was still flipping through the papers.

“What's Clay think about this?” Tig said finally and Happy rolled his eyes.

“You really give a shit?” Happy growled. He pointed to Tig then to Kozik. “You're the only pilots we got. That's why you're sittin' there.” He gestured to the head of the table.

Tig stayed silent. The loyalty forged in his bones made him think of their previous leader, who was steadily becoming less popular with the rest of the crew as he pushed them into dangerous shit that was less about saving lives and more about the payout. Happy was right.

“Juice,” he started, stacking the papers back up. “Keep an eye on those screens. Let me know the second something happens.” The kid nodded and got up, putting his phone in his pocket. “Hap,” Tig turned and rubbed the bridge of his large nose. “See if your guy can get us the vents sooner, we can't wait that long.”

Happy nodded and followed Juice. Kozik looked at Tig, unable to help feeling a little proud at how the older man had sunk into the leader position. Tig was not a leader, Tig was muscle at it's finest, and for him to be composed enough to give orders was starting to take it's toll. The sooner he could get back inside the Jaeger and kill something, the better.

“Come on,” Kozik stood and jerked his head in the direction of the door. “Lose the kutte.”

Tig didn't say anything as he watched the man leave the table. Kozik knew he would follow. He looked down at the one piece of paper that Juice had left behind. He couldn't interpret most of the numbers, but he did know one thing. “We're fucked,” he mumbled quietly.

 


End file.
